


Rings a Bell

by innerfray



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, Adding more tags later as they come up but I’ll start with, Blowjobs, Drinking, Dual POVs, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mentions of previous Thancred/Wol & Ysayle/Wol, Mostly Canon Compliant, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Past Lives, Pegging, Pining, Rough Sex, Scions and Exarch are around, Smoking, Soulmates, Touch Starved Emet, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), just so yall know what’s coming lol, like a first degree burn, mild slow burn, spicy banter, switch!emet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerfray/pseuds/innerfray
Summary: Emet Selch knows the warrior of light, and somewhere in her fragmented soul, she must know him too. He’d bring her memories back - or die trying. It was that simple.[Takes place “behind the scenes” throughout 5.0] [Emetwol/Azemet] [Named Female WOL]
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 30
Kudos: 80





	1. Familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got kicked off by the first page of this comic (https://twitter.com/elfwifecity/status/1220711219163611141) and spiraled into something wildly out of control!
> 
> Will likely be updating tags with content warnings and such as we go, but I can say that while things may get pretty intense there will be no noncon in this fic. 
> 
> Hope yall enjoy :)

_For our love is a ghost that the others can't see_

_It's a danger_

_Every shade of us you fade down to keep_

_Them in the dark on who we are_

\-------------------------------------------

The Crystal Exarch would never admit to being a voyeur, of course not. Nevertheless, after being separated from his hero for so long, of course he was concerned about her well being. The only reason he observed the warrior of light-turned-darkness in his mirror was strictly for her own safety, nothing more. At least, this is what he told himself as he spied on Shayla Salvo in her chambers at the Pendants.

Strands of burgundy hair fell askew from her thick ponytail as she collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. Her face was mottled with a few bruises, fresh and purple-red from the battle with King Titania. She brought her arm up to shield her eyes from the bright lamps, long ears drooped flat against the comforter, and The Exarch could see her biting her lip. She was trembling.

It made his heart ache to see her so battered, and he knew she likely wouldn’t appreciate him witnessing this moment of weakness. But she had to keep going – for all their sakes. He believed in her. He knew she could do this.

After a few deep breaths, Shayla propped herself up with her elbows. She pulled a healing potion from her pack and knocked it back, shaking her head vigorously as if that would rid her mouth of the bitter taste.

“That fucking sucked. Way too close,” She muttered. “Why would he summon not one, not two, but _three_ trees to whale on me? Faerie royalty, really.”

She glanced around the room, her demeanor visibly improved from the potion, and her face lit up upon seeing the basket of sandwiches left for her on the desk. The Exarch beamed - he was glad she noticed them. She dragged herself off the bed and double-checked that the coast was clear before digging into them with gusto.

“Oh _Exaarch_ ,” a voice called from the hall, raised far louder than it needed to be. An alarm bell. The Exarch’s adrenaline spiked, and he frantically began casting the spell to close the mirror observation. Unfortunately, Emet Selch sauntered into the room before he could finish.

The offending Ascian raised a hand, leaving it loose at the wrist and waving it at him. “This tower is a travesty of architectural design, could you be a dear and direct me to – oh, what is _this_?”

He cocked his head, catching a brief glimpse of Shayla polishing off her second sandwich before the Exarch slammed his staff down a little _too_ hard on the ground. The vison was closed.

“If you could kindly restrain yourself from roaming wherever you want like this is YOUR tower, it would be much appreciated.” The Exarch snapped. He looked firmly forward at the conspicuously blank mirror, hoping the Ascian wouldn’t see the embarrassment on the (lower half) of his face.

Emet raised an angled eyebrow and grinned, holding a pointing finger up and twirling it with all the panache of an orchestra instructor.

“Apologies, apologies, Exarch. I promise in the future I will cater to your unreasonable demands on my wandering – but I’m far more interested in what you’ve just turned off.”

The Exarch turned then to examine him. He seemed to be genuinely curious.

“You didn’t need directions at all, did you? You wanted to see this? Why?”

Emet Selch shrugged. “I’d like to see what our Hero is like when she’s let her hair down, so to speak. I _yearn_ to understand your plight, you see, and it could provide valuable insight into a compromise.”

“Shayla never lets her hair down,” The Exarch retorted, grasping his staff tightly.

“Well, on the other hand, I could graciously let her know that a certain someone has been spying on her in her private chambers,” Emet said, brightly, and the Exarch knew they’d reached an impasse. 

It passed unspoken between them – _I won’t tell if you don’t._

He tapped his staff softly against the floor, as if he wanted to keep from alarming her.

The picture came back into focus.

\------------------------------------------------

After eating half the basket of sandwiches in an unacceptably fast amount of time, Shayla lay back down on the bed with a contented sigh. When she closed her eyes, it was as if the Scions hadn’t just been accosted by a nosy, pathetic Ascian wearing the skin of a Garlean. It was as if she hadn’t just absorbed a second Lightwarden into her aether. She could feel sleep fast approaching, but as she rolled over she groaned with discomfort.

Of course - her armor was still on. She heaved herself upright with all the strength she had left. The armor gleamed, dark and impenetrable, and she began the process of unfastening the various buckles and clasps. She hoped idly she hadn’t poked any holes in the bed – of course, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

Fighting the Lightwardens was about as difficult as Shayla was expecting, but the resulting fatigue from absorbing their light felt strange. Like she was carrying something both very light and very heavy, all at once. She wondered if she’d be able to keep doing it, but then batted the thought away. Of course she could, she was the damn Warrior of Darkness, and she couldn’t stop now. She didn’t have a choice, really, after a certain point. Fray was proof of her frustration with that, and she could feel their presence riling her up when her thoughts drifted. A deep breath was in order – no need to get angry right before bed.

Finally rid of her armor, she was left in a simple black tank top and leather pants when a violent shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t from the open window, nor from the door. Her ears perked up, twitching as she clenched her fists.

Somehow, someone was watching her. 

She dropped into a sturdier stance and scanned for some sort of scrying device, assassins, anything. One bit of wall with a slight chip in it seemed suspicious, and she glared at it, brows furrowed. After several moments of nothing happening, she shook her head and eased up. Paranoia was getting the best of her – obviously, no one was there.

She just needed some rest. She’d be good as new in the morning.

\-----------------------------------

Shayla’s gaze pierced through the two observers, thick black eyelashes feathered around golden eyes.

Emet’s breath caught in his throat. He locked eyes with the warrior of darkness in an unsettling, one-sided staring match. Those eyes, so like his own, so like _hers_ had been. He could see the color of her soul, albeit filtered somewhat through the mirror - a particularly meaningful shade of orange. It bloomed, vivid, fragmented yet recognizable. He reminded himself to inhale and jerked his head away.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the Exarch stammered, slamming his staff down again and ending the visual abruptly. “This is indecent, the spying. Twas not my intention.”

“Ah, it’s quite all right, my dear Exarch,” Emet said, years of practice masking the sheer nerves racing through him. “Now I’ve at least seen our hero’s reaction to absorbing the light. That’s all I sought. Lechery is beneath me, frankly.” He massaged his temple with a single finger. “Though I must confess, between us, I am conflicted.”

The Exarch’s eyes narrowed. “What about? Helping the Warrior of Light – er, Darkness? Your grand scheme?”

“No,” He said, looking up at the ceiling. The kaleidoscope of stars swirled, mirrored in his eyes.

“Then…?”

“I wasn’t expecting the Warrior of Light, Champion of Eorzea and Ishgard, Liberator of Doma and Ala Mihgo, the _bane_ of my perennial existence - “ he spat the words faster and faster before cutting himself off, wrenching his gaze away from the stars. He had to stifle a manic laugh, how awful, for fate to pit them against one another like this.

“I wasn’t expecting her to be so… “ ** _familiar,_** _his mind filled in, but he couldn’t say that, no, it was impossible, to say it aloud would be to acknowledge it._

The Exarch tapped his foot. “So… what?”

“Flawed. Fragmented _._ Fragile,” The lie sprang effortlessly from his lips – though he believed it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I suppose I thought she might be more than that, with so many feats to her name.”

The Exarch’s shoulders hunched, and he pointed at the door. “You shall not slander her name. Your unwelcome visit is over. We will not speak of this. Out.”

“Twas a pleasure talking with you, my dear Exarch. Talking and nothing more.”

He bristled at the epithet “Please stop calling me that,” he snapped.

“Our most vaunted Crystal Exarch.”

“OUT!”

\-------------------------------------------------------

When Emet Selch slept, it was intended to while away the endless hours. To stave off the gnawing boredom that sometimes threatened to consume him. When he slept, he succumbed to the glorious void, rescinding his own existence for a moment before rising to face his endless mission anew.

That night, for the first time in years, Emet Selch dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song: Familiar by Agnes Obel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32kYH6XZrIo
> 
> Chapters will be titled based on songs from my emetwol playlist bc I'm self indulgent! 
> 
> Anyway, what could he POSSIBLY be dreaming about?? hmmmmmmmMM


	2. Stay Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angsty fluff, hot goss and bantery banter. Enjoy!

_Open your eyes and dream with me_

_And you know we_

_We don't need the_ _light_

 _You_ _and I like_ _fireflies_

_We do better in the night_

_\-------------------------_

_It was dark, in his dream, and something soft pressed against his eyes. Where was he? Slender, calloused fingers interlocked with his own, tugged him forward. Leading him somewhere._

_“Where are we going?” He asked into the void._

_“Just keep your eyes closed, Hades.”_

_That voice, cutting and light, still lay achingly close to his heart. He hadn’t heard it in a long, long time, even in dreams. With his free hand, he reached up to confirm the strip of cloth tied around his face._

_“With this blindfold on, I hardly think that’s necessary –“_

_“What did I say? No peeking!”_

_His sight obscured, the clack of their boots against the tiled sidewalk filled his ears as they continued to walk. He knew he was with the fourteenth seat, Azem. But this dream was different, not a memory brought forth from his subconscious to torture him - this was new._

_“Where have you been off to this time?” He asked, and he genuinely wondered what her answer might be._

_She tutted at him. “If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.”_

_He growled but continued to let himself be led. He tended to do that, with her._

_They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Emet Selch squeezed her hand a bit tighter. As if it might tether him here a few moments longer._

_Everyone he had ever cared about was gone, either dead or condemned to shattered lives as a fraction of their former self. The memories he shared with them, though ancient, were still sharp - he could pull out an event and picture it clearly in his mind’s eye. But the ache, the longing, stemmed from losing the mundane. Making Azem an espresso with two shots, no cream, a little hot water on top, just how she liked it. Chatting with Hythlodaeus about the latest mischief they’d gotten into before a Convocation meeting. Working in the library, knowing Lahabrea was researching the same topic just nearby._

_Every step he took now was calculated, with purpose, so he could have it all back._

_“Azem.” Her name on his lips, as it once had been._

_“Hm?” Her question seemed to acknowledge his change in tone. Emet wished he could see her._

_“How… how did you sleep?” He ventured. Something natural, something normal, that’s all he sought._

_“Really? Must you even ask? You were there.”_

_He flinched. “Right, of course. How silly of me.”_

_“I returned from my expedition yesterday,” Azem recounted, “We stayed at your penthouse and I promised you a surprise in the morning. Now I’m delivering on it! Keep up, old man.”_

_If his eyes were visible, he would have given her a reproachful look. “’Old man?’ You’re not much younger than I am!”_

_“But it’s the principle – you act far older.” She said. Emet was sure she was sticking her tongue out._

_He chuckled. “That I cannot deny. Now, will you please remove this blindfold?”_

_“We’re almost there, just wait a bit longer,” she replied. He could hear the little hitch of excitement in her voice. The waiting was driving him mad._

_Emet stopped abruptly, causing her to stop in her tracks as well. Pretense wasn’t needed, not now._

_“I missed you,” he said quietly, “While you were away. Will you please let me see you?”_

_He heard Azem take a deep breath, in and out._

_“Fine. Blindfold off,” she muttered, and the darkness lifted. Her small smile blindsided him. His partner, his confidant, his best friend, his love. Shepherd to the stars. She was maskless, and had that glint in her golden eyes as she always did when she’d picked up something new from her travels. Always eager to share with him upon her return._

_He noticed her hair was tied up with bright red lilies this time. That was certainly unusual. The flowers stood out against the gleaming metal towers of Amaurot which flanked them on either side. Streetlamps pierced through the darkness of night and lit her face in a halo._

_“Well, happy now?” She questioned, breaking him from his reverie. “I missed you too, you stick in the mud.”_

_He made to put his mask back on, out of habit, but she took his hand again before he had the chance. “No need, we’re taking the backstreets. I promise not to tell on you.”_

_They continued the rest of the way until they reached a small clearing surrounded by purple-flowered bushes._

_“Okay, here it is!” She pointed down, proudly, and he sees in the foliage what would unmistakably be called a Poroggo on the Source._

_“Sentient Amphibious Greenies! My newest concept. I recently discovered a star covered in marshland, full of these adorable little guys. I thought, why NOT give them higher intelligence? Think of the wonderful things they could do! They seem to have a penchant for magic, too,” She explained._

_He snorted at that. “Adorable. What kind of magic? Creation magic?”_

_She shook her head, “No, more like rudimentary elemental.”_

_Emet bent down to examine the creature, which ribbet-ed indignantly at his inspection. “An excellent concept,” he concluded, “you should be proud. But why are you hiding it in these bushes?”_

_Azem flipped her hair, looking pleased with herself. “I wanted you to be the first to see it, but I’ll be running it by Lahabrea soon to see how we can execute the concept further.”_

_The poroggo ribbet-ed again, and she squatted down next to Emet to give it a pat. “Also, the sound it makes is funny. I kept that in.”_

_“I would expect nothing less,” He said with a grin._

_“Oh!? Have I finally brought a smile to the illustrious Emet Selch’s face?” She stood up, stroking her chin in triumph. He quickly rearranged his smile into a glower, and she laughed._

_“Well, you’ve never particularly struggled with that before,” He conceded._

_“I suppose that’s true,” Azem said, reaching down to help him up. She pulled him into a tight embrace, and he was sure his heart was beating far too loud._

_Emet buried his face in her neck, threaded a tentative hand through her hair, and closed his eyes. The warmth of her body against his stoked something in his heart he thought had long since died. She smelled like earth, fresh herbs, and morning dew. Perhaps if he just kept holding her like this, he wouldn’t have to endure the loneliness waiting for him upon waking._

_“Hey, Hades, I just realized something," she murmured against him._

_He blinked at the use of his true name. “Yes?”_

_She pulled away slightly, biting her lip. “You haven’t called me by my name at all today. Just Azem.”_

_“Indeed? I hadn’t realized,” he said, still somewhat dazed._

_“Well, I had,” she pouted, “And it’s odd.”_

_Azem leaned toward him, their noses brushing, her breath so close he could taste it on his lips. He drew even closer without thinking. Only a hair’s breadth separated them. She was right there, she felt real, and it was unbearable._

_“Tell me my name,” she whispered._

_He tried to say it, and found the name slipping through his mind like quicksand. He tried again, and again, but the only sound he was able to make was unintelligible static. He wrenched from her grip in horror and backed away from her, hand over his mouth._

_“I’m sorry, I… can’t.” He said, feeling the dream beginning to unravel._

_Azem tried to come closer again, but he took a step back. “Are you making jokes, Hades?” she asked. “How could you forget my name? It’s Shayla.”_

_No, this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. A roaring filled his ears, drowning out her voice, her face, their home, until all went black again._

Emet Selch awoke, hidden in the boughs of the Rak’Tika Greatwood, her voice still echoing in his mind. Telltale tracks of tears streaked down his face and he rubbed at them furiously.

“Shit,” he said, teleporting away before his thoughts could catch up to him. Into the cold, comforting embrace of darkness once more.

\----------------------------

“Should we slow down a bit? We don’t want to startle anyone living here,” Minfilia suggested.

The unconventional adventuring party had finally reached Rak’Tika, and Shayla had set a brisk pace in an attempt to reach Y’shtola as quickly as possible. Thancred and Minfilia were hardly keeping up with her long strides, with Urianger slightly winded and following several paces behind. Emet Selch lagged quite far down the path, as if to say _“I’m not associated with these people.”_ It was, predictably, a bright and blinding day, with the cloying light outlining the enormous trees framing their path.

The warrior of darkness slowed down, only by a fraction. “Is that better?”

“S-sure,” Minfilia said. “I know you’re worried about your friend – I’m sorry I asked.”

Shayla’s expression softened. “No, no, I’m sorry for hurrying us along. Seeing all the light here,” she said, glancing upward, “I figured the sooner we get there, the better.”

She slowed their pace down to a stroll this time, and Thancred took the opportunity to tap her on the shoulder. “Er, Shayla, would you mind if I stole you away for a moment? I’d like a word.”

“Sure, what’s going on?” She asked.

He shuffled his feet and glanced over his shoulder furtively at the rest of the group. “I’d rather discuss it in private, perhaps over there?” He pointed to a grove several paces from the road.

She raised an eyebrow. “This is odd, Thancred. Everything okay? You’re really fine leaving Minfilia with _him_?” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Emet Selch, who waved and smiled with faux-enthusiasm.

“It’s fine, Urianger can keep watch,” Thancred reasoned. “It’ll only take a moment.”

Emet Selch cleared his throat. “You do know I can hear every word you’re saying,” he called.

“Don’t care,” Shayla said, deadpan. Emet’s jaw nearly dropped. “You’re not needed here anyway," she continued, "You’re the one forcing your presence on us. Why not just leave?”

“You wound me,” he said, scratching his nose to hide his disgruntled expression. He was wholly unaccustomed to backtalk from mortals, and it felt like even more of a blow coming from her. “I suppose now I ought to stay just to spite you.”

“Unfortunate,” she said, giving him a disparaging look before turning her attention back toward Thancred. “Okay, lead on.”

They walked through the bushes off the path and into the glade. Shayla leaned against a tree and crossed her arms.

“Alright, what is it?”

Thancred wrung his hands for a moment. “Look, I don’t know how to ask this, so I’ll just say it straight out. _Did you fuck Emet Selch_?”

He blurted out the last part, and she buckled against the tree, hands splayed against the trunk to keep her balance. For a few moments she squinted at him, taking some time to compute what he’d said before bursting into a fit of laugher.

“Did I fuck _\- What?_ What brought this on?” She said, gasping the words out between laughs. 

“Listen, I don’t know how to explain it,” Thancred mumbled, the words coming out in a nervous rush, “But the whole way here, the way he’s been looking at you… it’s not quite hate, or anger, or even resentfulness, it’s something else. Longing? Frustration? And the moment your gaze drifts toward him, it’s back to his usual expression. Something’s amiss. He may be an Ascian but he’s still confined to a man’s flesh and bone-”

Shayla cut him off there, wiping a residual tear from her eye. “Gods, Thancred, is it possible you’re reading too much into this? I’d sooner kill an Ascian than sleep with one, you know that.”

He flushed at that, though from embarrassment or anger she couldn’t tell. “I don’t have any good explanation,” he continued, “It’s just a feeling.”

“Okay, okay.” She held up her hands in a cease-fire and lowered her voice. “Are you feeling odd because of our _history_? Because that was so long ago, and we’ve discussed it to death. It meant nothing.”

Thancred shook his head violently. “No, no, it’s not about that at all. Listen,” He said, his voice quieting, “I’m telling you this as your friend. I don’t trust him. I’ve seen what they do to people, how they use people – I’ve felt it.”

She closed her eyes and nodded once. This clearly had touched a nerve.

“Listen Thancred,” she said, “I hear you, really I do. But I can take care of myself. And even if, for some untold reason, I _was_ fucking Emet Selch, it would be none of your business. Okay? I don’t want you to bring this up again. Got it?”

“Fine. Just, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, clearing his throat. “Though I am glad to hear it’s not true.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath waiting for that one,” she said with a wry smile. They walked back to the path and rejoined the group.

“C’mon, team,” she gestured in an exaggerated “onward!” motion, and they all turned to continue walking. Suddenly, she found herself several paces back. Disoriented, she looked around.

She was right in step with Emet Selch. Had he teleported her?

“Did he really think I wouldn’t be able to hear something from that distance when I can quite literally teleport across dimensions?” Emet Selch mused, strolling casually as if nothing had happened

Shayla’s eyes narrowed. “Did you teleport me without my permission? Tread lightly, _Ascian_ , or I’m not going to be so nice to you anymore.”

“You aren’t nice to me anyway. I merely wanted to debrief,” he said with a shrug. “And let you know that I heard the conversation. You may choose to do with that information what you will.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss. You heard my response, right? I don’t need white auracite to send your soul crawling for a new vessel. So, I'd appreciate it if you kept your distance. And if, for some reason, Thancred’s absurd concern is true,” she said, keeping her gaze focused forward, “I’m not interested.”

“See, that’s interesting,” Emet pondered, “as you clearly stated that if it _was_ happening it would be none of his business. Could it be that you’ve perhaps thought about it after all?”

Her face burned a deep red, but she managed to keep her expression entirely blank. “I really, really hadn’t until just now.”

“Well, I will say this much – Lahabrea’s old vessel is much more perceptive than I gave him credit for,” Emet said, studying his gloves.

Shayla’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked straight at him for the first time since the mirror incident. “Are you… making a pass at me?” She asked, her expression grave.

“No,” He snapped, “Lahabrea's vessel simply caught me in a moment of weakness." Shayla raised an eyebrow at that. He continued, unhurried, "I was observing you, I'll admit that, but not for such an absurd reason. I am only too happy to clear the air. It meant nothing.”

The warrior of darkness turned her attention back toward the scions down the road, grinding her teeth together.

“Fine. I accept your explanation. The air has been cleared. Now take me back to the group and stay out of my way. I know I can’t make you leave, but I can at least make sure you’re not welcome.”

Emet Selch clutched his chest in mock-horror. “Oh, I’m terrified, warrior. I have not once felt unwelcome in my entire immortal life.” She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, this conversation is over,” Shayla said. She paused for a moment, then added, “and for the record, just call me Shayla. I hate it when people use titles.”

Emet winced at the request, ' _How could you forget my name?'_ ringing in his ears. She glanced over at him.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, “But I think I would prefer to call you hero _.”_ Before she could protest, he whisked them back to the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song Title: Stay Awake by Skott: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR95_Tk0uDc
> 
> God I have so many scenes I need to get out of my brain and onto paper for this story, and I’m so so excited for where it’s going to go!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's bookmarked/subscribed already, ya’ll the mvps 😊 please leave a comment if you have any thoughts, and I will try to update this week!!


	3. Let me in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up way longer than I anticipated, the muses ran away with me. Hope ya’ll enjoy <3 
> 
> cw drinking alcohol in this chap, but no overly drunken behavior

_If you only knew what you were missing_

_If you only knew what you were letting go_

_Wait until you see how much you miss me_

_And how it feels to be all alone_

_\-----------------------------------------_

The Vii roused Emet Selch from his fitful slumber amongst the trees. He’d been bored, waiting for the group to finish off the Lightwarden of Rak’Tika, he’d just hoped his own mind would provide him the solace he desired.

It did not.

He was ushered into Fanow village by the three Vii guards who found him suspicious (he was). The Warrior of Darkness and her party had returned, and had lost much in their recent expedition. Rather than suffer through their mourning on top of his own, he decided to show some goodwill by freeing the miqo’te woman’s soul from the aethereal current.

Through minimal effort on his part, her soul was retrieved successfully. Their half-hearted thanks were not nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped - yet, thanks to her shrewd questioning at the ancient murals shortly afterward, he finally had the opportunity to explain exactly what had happened during the great sundering. What Hydaelyn and Zodiark truly were. He was sure he hadn’t convinced them fully, but at least he’d sown the seeds of doubt.

Now, he watched from the darkness as Shayla beelined for the village bar. Alone, intentionally it seemed. She clacked across the wooden bridges in her armor, shoulders hunched. For a seven-times-rejoined vessel of his partner, she was seeking refuge from his words in a woefully mortal fashion.

She knew the whole story now. Where he came from. Who guided their respective hands. But would she accept it? Would she allow him to see her soul more fully, want to know more about who she was?

Would she want to know more about HIM?

“I flatter myself,” he muttered.

He settled in, cloaked in darkness somewhere in the rafters of the bar to do what he did best. He watched.

\---

Fanow’s single bar was comforting, inviting. With only a few tables scattered around the bar itself, it seemed a perfect place to seek respite when your world had been shaken. The taupe wood interior was laced with vegetation, the air cool.

Shayla sat down at the bar upon one of the stools. They were made of polished wood, and somehow felt soft despite having no cushions. She waved the bartender over – her arm weary from battle, it flopped half-heartedly.

“So you’re the one they say is bringing back the night?” The bartender said, smiling and gesturing at the various colored bottles behind the counter. “I can’t possibly charge you for anything under the circumstances. Please, order whatever you’d like. It’s on the house.”

“I’ll pay, don’t need any special treatment,” she said, brushing off the offer like one would shoo an annoying insect. She pressed several gil down on the counter. “I’ll take whatever this can buy me.”

The bartender examined Shayla’s long ears, her twitching nose, her striking pale-gold eyes. The jet black facial markings on her cheeks she lingered particularly long on.

“You are technically a stranger here, yet you look like us,” she concluded. “You have our features. This should be your home, as there are very few places we have been able to cling to after the flood. Why haven’t I seen you before?”

Again, she shrugged off the question. “I won’t pretend I’m _not_ a… Vii, like you. But I can’t actually answer your question in any way that would make sense. I can give you my name though – it’s Shayla. Yours?”

“Shayla,” The bartender said, stroking her chin, “quite an unusual name. I’m Vjrn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shayla said, “and I’m glad you’re open at this hour. A drink is sorely needed.”

“Of course,” Vjrn said, sensing her dismissal. She busied herself with a bottle on the counter, pouring a dark, viscous liquid into a glass with ice. With an incline of her head, she pushed it toward Shayla, then moved down the bar to give her space.

Shayla picked up the drink, holding it to her lips. They burned hot against the cool glass. Perhaps the heat in her was yet another side effect of the light’s influence. She pressed her free hand to her forehead – it seemed cool enough. Why did her heart feel like it was running like a furnace? Like something was burning through her, growing inside her.

Emet Selch’s speech at the murals had her head spinning. The old world, sundered into 13 shards. The real possibility that she’d been tempered by Hydaelyn. Keeping the power of three lightwardens confined inside her. And it all came back to that damned Ascian.

To avoid that train of thought, she took a long swig of her drink before slamming it back down with a satisfying thunk. As she suspected, it tasted much like one she’d often had back home, in Golmore. Acrid, with a hint of burnt sugar on the way down. One small taste of home before they returned to the Crystarium tomorrow.

“So, the guards captured the strange man with black and white hair?” Shayla called out to Vjrn, a desperate lilt to her voice. “While he was, what, taking a nap?”

She nodded, walking back over. “That’s what I heard, yes.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s actually taking any of this seriously at all…” she mused, circling a ringer around the rim of the glass, “but with everything he said, he has to be, right?”

Emet Selch couldn’t resist the temptation to join her any longer. Spiraling alone like this didn’t suit her – and perhaps he could help. Or he might unintentionally push her further toward despair. Either way, he couldn’t deny his interest.

“Who isn’t taking things seriously, Hero?” His voice echoed from the other plane. He materialized in the bar, taking the seat beside her smoothly. Vjrn’s eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing at the strange man who had appeared from thin air.

Shayla laughed bitterly, “of course you would show up! Now, of all times…” She trailed off, draining the remainder of her glass rather than finish her thought. 

She glanced across the bar at Vjrn. “We'll have to take a rain check on that conversation. Sorry to trouble you so soon - one more, please.”

Vjrn reached over and refilled her glass as Emet placed his elbows on the bar, steepled his fingers and examined her.

“Now, why are we so upset? I’ve graciously come here to answer your questions. Surely you have some, or you wouldn’t be throwing yourself into a stupor.”

“It takes a lot more than this to get me drunk,” she admitted, “and it would take more time than I have at the moment. I came here to be _alone_.” She threw him a meaningful look before returning to her drink. 

Rather than respond to that and invoke more ire, he chose to hold his tongue, letting the silence hang heavily. Several moments passed. If he knew her like he thought he might, she would break the silence herself. Vjrn was keenly interested in their conversation – she had been drying the same glass for the past few minutes, and her ears were at attention.

“So, you say you’re here to ‘answer my questions,’” Shayla said, making air quotes with her fingers and filling the dead air, “but why are you really here? Come to have some fun unsettling me with cryptic remarks? Tell me Hydaelyn is pulling my strings like some giant puppeteer in the sky, and I have no choice but to surrender to the light?”

He cracked a knowing, self-satisfied smile. “None of the above. I merely wanted to check in on your well being after your latest Lightwarden, and – genuinely – make myself available if there was any confusion around my little history lesson earlier. But, if you’ve no need, I’ll be off.” He raised his hand, poised to snap himself back into the darkness.

“Wait!”

Shayla realized she’d unthinkingly stood up, pushing her stool away from the bar with a sickening screech. “ I guess,” she backpedaled, “if you’re offering... I could pick your brain.”

He batted his eyes as if saying " _I win,"_ and gestured back to her seat. She moved to sit down and her sword clacked loudly against the floor. She realized she had barged in earlier without even unstrapping her weapon from her back, and wordlessly did so before slumping back onto the stool. She propped the enormous greatsword against the stool next to her – keeping it within easy reach.

“Fine,” she conceded, “But I’m not drinking alone.”

Emet Selch shook his head, the answer springing to him quick. “I’m not interested. Perhaps another time.” 

“What, is this place beneath you?" She hissed, scratching savagely at a spot on her neck, "Is this drink too mortal, too unsophisticated for your sensibilities?”

“No, not at all – the timing seemed inappropriate.” He said, flinching at her tone. “And you seem to be _committed_ to misunderstanding my intentions.”

“Oh, _pray forgive me_ for my assumption that the ascian soul inhabiting the emperor of the Garlean empire might have an elitist tongue,” she said, some bite still lingering in her voice. “I’ll finish up myself then.”

He placed his head in one palm, propped on the bar, and drank in her face as she downed her new drink in silence. He hadn’t had the opportunity to sit this close to her before. Her dark red hair, ever tied up in a ponytail, was once again in disarray from battle. Strong eyebrows, bold black-painted lips, yet her eyes were left bare of makeup. Her lashes were long enough that she didn’t need it.

The structure of her face, her high cheekbones – everything about it looked like Azem. It was impossible for him to find her unattractive, under the circumstances. The fact that he felt so drawn to her irritated him. His plans, so carefully laid, threatened by something so trivial. 

But his partnership with Azem had not been trivial. It wasn’t fair to label it as such. This was not an easy thing to overlook, not after how long he'd waited. How long he'd been without her.

"Stop staring," she said, "It's weird."

“Duly noted," he said, continuing to stare. "But I have a question for you if you'll indulge me. Why are you here alone, Hero? So disturbed by the light inside you, by my ‘cryptic remarks,’ yet you run away from those who would comfort you. Could it be that you don’t want them to see you _weak_?”

Shayla made to take a sip of her drink in lieu of an answer. The beverage had reduced to diluted dregs around the ice, but she didn’t see that before raising the glass to her mouth, didn’t react when she sipped on the unsatisfying water. “Of course not,” she said levelly. Her hands shook.

Ah.

“Fine, don’t be honest with me,” he said with a shrug. 

If she was being honest, she _did_ have so many questions she wanted to ask him – was she tempered? If so, could he break it? Did he really know her soul from before the sundering? Did he think she could hold the light, or was she doomed to fail?

But her pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she glared at a point on the wall in front of her, behind the bar. The wood comprising the walls was weathered, yet she knew by its construction was more than strong enough to hold six buildings of the same size. Yes, thinking about carpentry would be helpful in this situation, surely.

“You’re angry that you’re scared,” Emet continued, unprompted, “because you have a _duty_ to uphold. And you would never let your friends see your fear.” 

“Fuck my duty,” she said, finally, and the dark knight’s soul in her pocket seemed to warm in approval. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

“Are you? Hmmm, I wonder.”

Shayla slammed a fist on the table and glared at him, her eyes shining. She looked passionate, dangerous, and – Emet Selch gulped – exquisitely beautiful

“Whatever you think you know about me, whoever you see when you look at my face,” she said quietly, and she leaned in toward him, “You don’t know me.” Her breath ghosted against his lips, chilled from the cold drink, and he shuddered.

She was right – he didn’t know her. But he realized in that moment he wanted to. And that thought almost made him run right then, get as far away as he could.

If he pushed this too far, it would ruin them both.

Their faces were far too close. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes to her lips – the dark, shiny black gloss she wore on them, what might it taste like? She noticed him staring again and leaned back immediately, chewing and licking her lips, seething, as if trying to work her makeup away.

Emet Selch coughed. “So,” he said, “If you’re truly feeling fine, and have nothing to discuss, I’ll take my leave, hero.”

“I told you to stop with the titles.”

“Do they bother you so, hero? You have earned them.”

“I thought you wanted me to _trust you_ ,” she said, “Isn’t using my real name the first step?”

“Not when it’s so painfully obvious you _don’t_ trust me," he pointed out. "Why breach such familiarities when we cannot simply sit and enjoy one another’s company.”

“How could I possibly enjoy the company of an Ascian hell-bent on bringing about the rejoining,” she said, massaging her temples. “And endlessly prying into my mind. It’s not appreciated.”

“I would stop prying if you’d let me in. Perhaps I might actually share in your pain, and understand it – what then? Would you still paint me as a monster?”

That stopped her. She took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. There had been one thing nagging at her above the rest since his speech. Since Yshtola’s rescue. Since Thancred’s outburst.

“Okay,” she cocked her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “You can see the color of souls? What color is mine? And… can you see who I was before the sundering?”

His expression feigning nonchalance, he balled his hands tightly into fists under the bar.

“It’s… orange,” he said simply. “And I am fairly sure of your identity. But I can’t be positive until I examine your soul more closely.”

One lie, amongst so many truths, surely would go unnoticed.

“Well, take a look,” she said. “I want to know.”

“I can’t be sure just seeing it. I need to touch it.”

Her eyes reduced to slits. “Touch?”

“It’s quite a simple ritual. No pain, no discomfort. But we should probably go somewhere quieter.”

If he had the opportunity to touch Azem’s soul, just once more… he needed to try. It had nothing to do with the fact that he found the Warrior of Darkness physically attractive. It was an unfair advantage, really, when she wore her face.

“Gods, I’m going to regret this,” Shayla murmured. She left several extra gil on the counter, and Vjrn politely inclined her head as they swept out the door, Emet Selch holding it open and bowing comically deep. Shayla grumbled under her breath as she walked past him, and the door swung shut behind them. Perhaps the liquor had been stronger than she thought if she was indulging him like this.

They walked out and along the lofted walkways, reaching a small alcove behind a nearby building.

“Okay, what sort of perverse ritual do you need to conduct to examine my soul? This isn’t going to awaken something in me, is it?”

Emet laughed out loud at that, a few clipped “ha”s more than he usually allowed.

“No, would that it could. ‘Tis merely a way for me to see more clearly.” He said. “And it’s quite simple, no pomp and circumstance needed.”

He removed the gloves from his hands, sliding off first one, then the other. He peeled them off methodically, inch by inch, a bit too slow. As if the unraveling itself was a rare treat.

Shayla looked at his hands warily. They were immaculate, and… larger than she had expected. “Why are you taking those off?”

“It requires direct contact with you,” He said, dropping the gloves. They disappeared with a _poof_ in the air. “A simple touch of our hands should do. Nothing untoward, I assure you.”

“You do remember what I said about being able to punt you out of that body like a pea from a pod, right?”

“Of course,” he said dryly, extending his hands. “I’m not interested in harming you – for now.”

“For now,” She said, with a sardonic laugh.

After a moment’s hesitation, she stretched her hands out, palm up toward him. She closed her eyes. Her muscles tensed, her ears pricked to sense any movements or sound. If he tried anything at all, she would be poised to strike.

He closed his eyes in turn, reached out and clasped her hands in his. Smooth, calloused, familiar. Just touching them nearly made him cry out, how long had it been since he’d truly embraced another like this? He bit his lip, he needed to focus - and then a spark ran through him, like lightning, as he looked within.

Her soul glowed, the orange enveloping his mind’s eye. It was Azem’s, without a shadow of a doubt. The wanderlust, the protectiveness, the curiosity, the core of her was all here. Seven shard’s worth, residing inside the Warrior of Darkness.

“Weary wanderer…” He whispered, unbidden, biting his lip. “How long has it been since I’ve seen so much of you?”

“What do you mean by that?” she said. “So much of me?”

But he saw Shayla’s soul too, a perceptible red hue layered over the top. Confidence, bravery, rebelliousness, her temper, a deep-seated desire to be strong for those she loved. He knew there was more, of course, but he dared not dig deeper.

Shayla could see none of this, she merely felt the tight clasp of his hands. They were cold, unnaturally so. She figured he was seeing something she probably didn’t want him to see, but in that moment she didn’t care.

Yes, it was reckless to allow Emet Selch to view her soul. As someone with the fate of entire worlds on her shoulders, she shouldn’t be doing this. Especially since Emet Selch directly opposed her mission. But she wanted – needed – to know what he saw. Was it what he so desperately sought? Did he really know her?

Did she know him?

“Emet Selch, what do you see?” She opened her eyes and asked again under her breath. He seemed younger, with his eyes closed – though his lids were dark purple and looked almost bruised, his expression was serene. He opened his eyes, and she saw a glaze in them entirely alien to his usual shrewdness. Was it a veil of tears? He blinked them away before speaking.

“I see you,” he said, his voice quavering. “I see who you once were, before the sundering.”

His tone alarmed her. “And?” She asked. What could have possibly prompted this?

Emet adjusted their hands, still joined, pulling them close to his chest. Shayla was pulled in with them. She could feel his heart thumping hard beneath their hands - was he reacting this way because of her? He released one of his hands and brought it up to her chin, holding it carefully, his eyes boring into hers. As if she was something fragile. She froze, waiting, watching him back unflinchingly.

“It means I have a lot to think about,” he said, pulling away abruptly. He dropped her hands as if they had burned him. Her face contorted, all her frustration and anger coming to a head. 

A smack resounded through the area as her hand met his cheek.

He cupped the mark that was forming, dumbfounded as if seeing her clearly for the first time.

“What was that for?” He asked, his voice raised two octaves in pitch.

“You can’t show up, stare into my soul, give me another fucking cryptic response and leave. You want me to trust you, to let you in? You want me to not paint you as a villain? Then tell me who I am to you! Tell me my place in all this!”

He shook his head, raising his voice now. “As much I as I would love to regale you with stories, there are some things you’re better off not knowing. It’s a path you cannot walk away from!”

“Who are you to tell me what’s best for me?” She seethed, grabbing him by the fur trim of his coat and hoisting him just slightly off the ground. “You offered, I asked. Give me my answer.”

He smirked down at her. “I know it’s difficult for your simple, sundered mind to understand. But please believe me when I tell you that you’re truly not ready to hear it, Shayla.”

“I think it’s more like _you’re not ready to tell it to me_ ,” she said. Then, her mouth dropped open. “Wait. You called me by my name.”

She let him go, and he snapped before even hitting the ground. He was gone.

The next day, their party left for the Crystarium. Emet Selch was nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Track: Let Me In, Tiny Deaths: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBiWBnUP_l0 
> 
> GGRRHHHHHh NEXT CHAP I FINALLY GET TO WRITE THE SCENE I STARTED THIS FIC FOR 
> 
> I’m sorry this ended up being a slower burn than I had planned, I promise it shall pay off


	4. Too Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chap got AWAY from me haha, includes smut and smoking (cigarettes). I’ve been v excited to get to this scene for a while, Enjoy :^)

_I_ _n isolation well except from the stars_

_A strange sensation from whatever you are_

_This time alone I'm holding up so far_

_But I've been waiting too_

_Long_

\--------------------------------------------

When they arrived at the Crystarium to rest after their victory in Rak’Tika, Shayla was glad Emet Selch had decided to make himself scarce. Very glad.

Despite this, she saw billowing black robes with white fur trim and gold decorations out of the corner of her eye wherever she turned. Her adrenaline wore on her, spiking when she saw anyone among the throngs of people with a light streak in dark hair.

Yes, she was grateful he was gone, for the Warrior of Darkness didn’t have time for the kind of distraction he afforded. Not that she would ever admit he was distracting.

On the way toward her well-earned rest, her hand lingered over the handle to her room at the Pendants. Tired as she was, with her mind racing like this, sleep might elude her for a while yet. A walk before bed might do her some good. She turned around and strode away from her room.

“Mind if I join you?”

Ardbert stepped into view, glowing and transparent and clad in his usual attire. Thankfully, the concierge had stepped out for a break, so she could speak freely next to the empty greeting desk.

“Of course,” she replied with a relieved smile. “It’ll be nice to not be alone with my own thoughts.”

“I know how it feels.” He said, awkwardly patting the air around her shoulder. “Well. Shall we?”

They strolled leisurely, and though Shayla knew to anyone watching it would appear she was brooding alone, she was grateful for his presence. The Crystal Tower glistened up ahead as they walked toward the center of the Crystarium, blue and proud against the night sky. The crowds thinned as folks turned in for bed, reducing the likelihood that someone would see the warrior of darkness talking to “herself.”

“The night sky in Rak’Tika looked magnificent. And it’s all thanks to you, Warrior.” Ardbert said, beaming up at the sea of stars. “Seeing their faces when the night returned… that’s what makes all this hero business worth it. ”

“Yeah,” Shayla said, “I hate feeling like it’s an obligation, but at the same time it feels so damn good to see the impact we can make, you know?”

“Yeah, definitely a double-edged sword. Speaking of obligation,” Ardbert ventured, “Do you think we’re really tied to Hydaelyn by her blessing? Tempered? Like Emet Selch implied?”

“I don’t know,” Shayla admitted, “to be honest, it’s really been bothering me. It’s… terrifying to consider.”

“Well, Ascians are liars,” Ardbert said, waving a hand on front of his face dismissively, “I’m sure he was just talking out his arse to stir up you and your companions.” He gave her an encouraging smile, but Shayla continued to frown. She stopped, picking at a fingernail.

They had reached the gardens at the outskirts of town, the ethereal purple trees framing the city glowing in the moonlight.

“But he’s been so forthcoming about, well, _everything_ so far. Yes, Ascians are liars – but for some godsforsaken reason I feel like he’s telling the truth,” She said, grimacing at the implications in her own words.

Ardbert’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, you’re probably as good a judge of character as I. But… well, it’s a bit complicated isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“His… _interest_ in you,” he said carefully, “might mean he’s throwing caution to the wind a bit.”

“Well, regardless of that, he’s not telling me what I actually want to know,” she said with a huff. “So maybe you’re right – maybe he is just trying to confuse us.”

She felt a flash of anger. Emet Selch was playing her for a fool, calling her weak, calling her scared. Even if he was telling the truth about the history of Hydaelyn and Zodiark, the rest of it was infuriating. He knew something about her that was incredibly important, and he was keeping it to himself. Why?

“I think I need to sleep,” she said, the weight of her emotions and recent battles mingling to settle heavily on her shoulders. The weight was insurmountable.

“Of course,” said Ardbert, looking at her with concern, “Sorry to upset you. Let’s head back.”

“No, I upset myself. It’s fine,” she said, plastering on a smile. “Let’s go.”

Though incorporeal, Ardbert still showed his concern by walking her all the way back to her room, only disappearing when he had seen her settle in safely.

Nightmares plagued her upon finally drifting off. Dreams where white light enveloped every place and everyone she’d ever loved, and she could do nothing to stop it. And something orange piercing through the brightness, tantalizing, that she couldn’t quite make out. She could only scream, and kick, and slash in vain.

Despite all this, she slept hard.

\----------------------------------------

Inside the Crystal Tower, the Crystal Exarch paced around the main room. The warrior of darkness had arrived safely and was resting, and now they had to plan their next move. But there was the issue of Emet Selch, what he’d done in Rak’Tika – and he could think of no better solution than confronting him directly.

“Emet Selch, I’d like a word,” the Exarch said into the empty room.

Emet was surprised he had sensed him while cloaked, but there was much he still did not know about the mysterious leader of the Crystarium. He emerged with a muffled thump against the crystalline flooring, meandering over to the Exarch.

“Oh goodie, I do enjoy our conversations,” Emet said, “What might pique your interest today, Exarch?”

“I’m not interested in your fluff and flattery at the moment, Ascian.”

“I shall speak plainly as I always do. What would you ask of me? See anything interesting spying on our Hero this evening?”

The Crystal Exarch scowled, then placed a hand over his mouth. As if he was reciting in his mind something that required the most delicate wording. Emet felt a twinge of unease.

“You saved Yshtola in Rak’Tika. Were you hoping to gain our favor by doing so?”

Emet Selch shrugged. “No matter what I say, you’ll assume I mean the opposite. I can tell you that it was done in good faith, and hope you take it at face value. But I am not optimistic.”

The Exarch seemed to accept this explanation, and he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Is that all?” Emet Selch asked.

"I saw you, with her,” said the Exarch. Emet Selch smirked, _now_ the real conversation would start. “You know the capabilities of my mirror. I have tried to only use it when needed – and I saw you examine her soul. I saw your fight with her.”

Emet felt his apprehension lift, and he smiled triumphantly. He could have some fun with this.

“Curious, are you? Yes, we did fight, and yes, I saw her soul. Is that all?”

“Then I would ask you a personal question, one that affects us both,” The Exarch said, tilting his head down to further shroud his expression behind his hood. “Who is the Warrior of Light? You know her, don’t you? From before the sundering? Why are you avoiding her now?”

Emet Selch continued to smile at him. What a nosy one the Exarch was turning out to be.

“I shall happily tell you, my dear Exarch – so long as it’s a fair exchange of information. What I know is valuable yes, and what I ask for is so meager. It should be an easy transaction.”

“What would you have me tell you?” He asked.

Emet Selch walked closer, then leaned down as if to peek under his hood. “Who are you?” He asked.

“Who am I…” The Exarch parroted, taking a step back to create some space. “Tis not a meager question, no. I don’t believe you’ve earned that answer from me, yet.”

“Not by saving your companion? Or amicably allowing your crusade against the Lightwardens to continue? I suppose it is your choice. I have plenty of work to do, scheming and watching and such.”

The Exarch steeled his shoulders, a decision made, and glanced at the doors. He raised his staff, and Emet heard a click of locks. They would not be disturbed.

“Tell me who she truly is. Perhaps I can offer something else. Some… advice.” He said, so quiet it seemed almost conspiratorial. 

Emet looked at him in surprise. “You would offer, what, _relationship_ advice?”

“If you want to get closer to her, I know her very well. Perhaps I can provide some valuable insight about her life to you. Would this be enough?” The Crystal Exarch offered.

Emet Selch tilted his head back and forth, considering, before shaking his head. “I’d rather get to know her myself, if it’s all the same to you. But I’m feeling generous, Exarch. Promise me you’ll reveal your identity in the coming weeks, and I’ll consider it a debt owed.”

He ground his teeth together. “Fine. I can accept those terms."

Emet Selch clapped his hands together.

“Excellent! I shall share with you what I know. By observing her, I’ve confirmed that Shayla is a shard of the fourteenth convocation member. Yes, the convocation of Ascians.”

“She is an Ascian?!” The Exarch cried with alarm.

“Let me finish,” Emet said, continuing joyfully. “While I am unsundered, she was unfortunately one of the ringleaders of the group who originally summoned Hydaelyn. Her soul is in pieces, like yours – but when a world undergoes a calamity, that shard of the original soul returns to its mate in the first. Is this all starting to make sense?”

“So she is – what, seven times rejoined? But she is still sundered, even now. Is she still her own person?” he questioned desperately; his voice frantic.

They had begun to circle each other, like animals about to pounce. The air had grown thick, strained, and Emet realized that he had nothing to lose by telling the truth as he had been.

Hell, it might even be entertaining.

“No, she will not take the fourteenth seat fully unless we bring about the rejoining. But she was my partner. My greatest friend. My _soul mate_ ,” he announced in a voice that reverberated around the room, flinging his arms out dramatically.

“I’m sorry,” the Exarch spluttered, “Your _what_?”

They continued to circle, tighter now, like a choreographed dance under threat of violence, and Emet picked up the thread again conversationally.

“All Ascians work in pairs,” he explained, “That bond has stayed, and I feel its pull every moment I’m with her. I’m sure she feels it too, though she might not understand why or what it is.”

He stepped closer to the Exarch, bearing down upon him. The height difference was palpable, but the Crystal Exarch stood his ground.

“I’m telling you this now so you won’t be shocked later when she joins me, of course.”

“Shayla won’t join you,” he said, firmly. “Whatever you’re thinking, if she is sundered as you say, she cannot remember. And… she will never love you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. But you, you’re quite fond of her aren’t you?”

“Emet Selch,” he seethed, the visible part of his cheeks turning red, “If you touch her, there will be hell to pay.”

“Far too late for that. And remember, if you even think about telling her any of this, I’ll tell her about your observational habits. I’m sure she’d love to hear about them.”

He teleported out of the room with a wink, followed by an indignant cry of _“Damn you, Ascian!”_

\-------------------------------------------------

Shayla awoke the next morning to the sound of screams.

The day passed in a blur of violence – the Crystarium Vanguard fought valiantly, but in the end Vauthry’s Sin Eaters dealt them a mighty loss. No one had seen them this organized before.

When the city quieted, when the monsters had been driven back, it hardly felt like a celebration. The people thrummed, a dirge settling over the town. They could only fight back for so long, and the desperation and grief in the air was stifling.

Shayla retreated to the Pendants after the battle, Lyna’s cries of grief echoing her own, playing in her head over and over as she shucked off her armor and flung herself into bed. She snatched the pillow and covered her head with it, blocking everything out. She screamed into it, the pillow muffling the sound as to not alarm anyone outside.

Though she had intentionally allowed herself this private moment of weakness, still she could not cry. It felt like she had been wound so tightly there was nothing that could release her, save death itself. Growling in frustration, she tossed the pillow aside unceremoniously, rolled over and ruffled through her bag beside the bed.

“Fresh air, and something else,” she murmured, and her fingers found the small box she’d been searching for. She pulled it out and opened it, a few rolls of tobacco hidden within. She pocketed them, then reached back into the bag to pull out a small red gem.

The warmth within it pulsed in her grasp, and she got up to make her way to the balcony. Her under-armor melted away to reveal silken red and black fabrics. The collar of her newly donned spellcasting doublet was stiff but loosened just enough for battle, and much softer than her usual plate mail. Her leggings were flexible to ensure maximum mobility. It was like slipping into a warm bath. 

She opened the doors to the balcony, leaned forward against the railing, and looked up.

Dark red spilled out from behind clouds, the sun on the verge of setting obscured by the mists of the tempest. Red, like the blood of the Crystarium soldiers drying across Lakeland. The ones that hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy the night sky.

Shayla lost herself for a moment, forgetting why she’d picked up the soul of the Red Mage until she remembered the cigarettes sitting idly in her pocket. Another deluge of bloodshed was surely a special enough occasion. She retrieved one, then flicked the fingers of her other hand together, lighting a spark of flame above her thumb. She held the flame in front of her face. It warmed her nose, blinded her eyes against the darkened landscape below. She raised the cigarette to her lips between her thumb and forefinger, pinched tight as if it might fall at any moment. Flame met cigarette, and she inhaled, closing her eyes, the darkness enveloping her.

Her muscles unknotted, bit by bit, and her head lightened with each puff she took. Her thoughts drifted to Emet Selch, against her best wishes. This man’s goal, to bring about the rejoining, would kill everyone she knew and loved. But his own losses… how grave had they been? What had kept him going, plotting through thousands of years?

Shayla didn’t even know if she had anything in her life pushing her like that. It was admirable, she had to admit.

She heard Fray’s voice, a comfort in her mind _: You can decide what pushes you. You can do what you feel is right. You owe them nothing._

Except she was the only one who could help the people of the First. She owed them their second chance at life, if she could provide it. And that thought ate away at her resolve, resentful and grim. The constant obligations, on top of possibly being tempered, was a whole other problem she didn’t have the bandwidth to process at the moment.

She took another drag, a bigger one. The cigarette was half burned now, and she tapped the ash off the edge absently with a shake. She let the smoke sit in her lungs a bit longer, hot and burning. A familiar feeling by now.

“Rather crude, isn’t it? Ingesting chemicals to alleviate sorrow,” her wanted-unwanted visitor appeared beside her, as if he’d been there the entire time. Perhaps he had.

Shayla blew her inhaled breath into the night and closed her eyes. “Yeah, maybe. I’ve earned the right to be crude on occasion.” The smoke lifted and was cut through by the rain just beyond the cover of the balcony.

He stared out at the view, inscrutable. “Seems more a habit than a singular bad decision,” he observed.

“I’m really not interested in judgments of character from someone like you,” She said, taking another drag, and they stood in silence - him leaning against the wall, she leaning on the railing. A moment passed before, looking firmly away, she pulled another cigarette out of her pocket and extended it toward him.

“If you’re so inclined to keep me company, at least join me. I know you’ve been avoiding me. Take it.”

With all her hostility, her defiance, he saw the olive branch. And rather than refuse again, he took it. He joined her, leaning down against the rail beside her. They looked out over the landscape.

Emet Selch held the cig elegantly, the picture of someone who’d practiced social smoking through countless gatherings. He lit it with a snap of his finger, like flint striking stone, and inhaled. She caught that serene expression again when he closed his eyes. His exhale, a precise ring, caught in the winds and mingled with her own.

“Whoever said I was avoiding you? We simply have no reason to meet,” he said, and his eyes seemed to absorb the darkness, reflecting like a cat’s as he looked to her. A beacon, a warning.

“Of course, no reason at all,” she said, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in her voice. “Could you leave your quips at the door, just for tonight? You’ve always been so good at reading the room. Can’t you see now’s not the time?”

He twisted his smoking hand into a figure 8, sending trails of smoke patterns spiraling up. He obeyed. It struck her as odd that he listened to her so easily. Even odder that she felt almost comforted by his presence.

She took another deep inhale and nearly finished hers off. Mortified, she felt tears springing to her eyes for no apparent reason. The events of the day seemed to finally be catching up with her. Emet pretended not to notice.

“It never stops hurting, really,” he offered. She blinked slowly at that. Sympathy from him, again.

“It never does,” she agreed. She watched his lips, delicately pursed, take another hit. He blew leisurely out his nose this time, letting the smoke billow like a dragon’s.

Or demon, more appropriately.

There was a lull. The spaces in their conversation felt too-long tonight, throwing their banter slightly off-kilter. Something left unsaid.

He had asked her to confide in him, to commiserate. Perhaps she would try.

“She sacrificed herself for me,” Shayla said, finally. “Ysayle. The one person in my life I opened up to, the one person I loved - she died so I could enter Azys La. I ended the Dragonsong War, a war that lasted _thousands of years_ , and sometimes it doesn’t even feel worth it because I lost her.”

She turned to face him, cocking her head to the side. The tears spilled silently down her cheeks, though her expression stayed poised. He wondered how many years she had practiced it, wearing this mask. Collecting friends at arm’s length. He could see her lower lip quivering, but only ever so slightly. She tossed the butt of her cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out.

How long had it been since he felt genuine curiosity for a sundered soul? The unfair advantage of Azem aside, he hadn’t expected any shard to evoke feelings in him. He found that he genuinely cared about the story she told, though he’d heard tales of loss countless times. Hers was different, simply because it was hers. And he knew her feelings all too well.

“I’ve even thought, ‘I wish that the war had continued,” she said, with a choked laugh, “and ‘I should have left Nidhogg slaughter everyone.’ Just for the chance she might live. It’s messed up.” She wrung her hands in guilt and looked at him, desperation coloring her face.

“You understand that, don’t you?”

He looked up at the tempest of a storm, raging above, then back to her. “Yes,” he said, “I do.”

“And that’s why you’re trying so hard to destroy us all? To save the people you love?” She turned her gaze out toward Lakeland again. “I can’t even say for certain that I wouldn’t do the same in your position. But it changes nothing.”

“We are diametrically opposed, and always shall be. Two-toned echoes, if you will.” He mused. "Perhaps you will understand my motives in time."

“Perhaps,” she said. “Though you extend your hand in friendship, and so kindly outline everything about your life and plan, you conveniently leave out my role. What is it you’re hoping to gain from building rapport with me? Is there something I’m missing?”

“Building ‘rapport’ is an insult to what I aim to do with you,” he said, then fell silent. Perhaps that was too far. She stared at him, unblinking.

“An insult? So… after all this, I’m just a pawn in your scheme? You want me to drop my guard so you can use me?”

“You give yourself too little credit. You are not a pawn, Shayla,” he said, trying to fix his mistake. He edged closer to her against the railing, “You are the _queen_. You are the trump card. And now that I know your soul, I know it can be none other besides you.”

Their shoulders nearly touching, he stroked her cheek tentatively with his free hand. It was still damp from the tears – and her usually battled hardened muscles found themselves wanting. She was stuck, stunned by his boldness, and felt her grief giving way to fury.

“You said you see me as all but subhuman,” she said, incredulous, flicking her head to remove his hand. “I’m here, mourning on the eve of a terrible battle for survival. All you think of is how you can use me to achieve your goals. You see us, our losses, as nothing. Because we are not your people. We are broken. We are worthless. That’s it, isn’t it?”

She grabbed his shoulders and pried him from the railing, shoving him against the wall. His back hit with a sickening thud.

“Everything we have fought for today, everything we are mourning – it means nothing to you!” She cried out, advancing on him.

He held up his hands in a cease-fire, “Listen –“ 

“Bastard,” she hissed, cutting him off. “Since you can be reborn at any moment, our short lives are incomprehensible to you. But our lives have _meaning,”_ she added savagely. “I will bring back the night, and ensure your plan fails. You can fucking count on that.”

“And _you_ do not comprehend the magnitude of what I have lost," he snapped back, pointing a finger accusingly into her chest, " _Everything,_ because of thinking like yours. And against my better judgment, against my millennia of plans, you come along - the hero of the source - and stand in my path. As your mother bids you!”

Trapped between her and the wall, he seized her shoulders, digging his fingers in. He wanted to shake her, to scream out how long he had waited to find her. She met his gaze with furrowed brows and bared teeth, and he knew he must be moments from being dismissed. Bodily.

“Y _ou mean something to me,_ “ he said, wildly, his eyes wide and searching hers now. “More than my own ‘family’ in Garlemald. More than anything in recent memory. If you would just stand aside and let me work, I could save you from the state you’re in. I could -”

Shayla shrugged out of his hold and caged him in with her arms, planting them on either side of him with a thud.

She couldn’t let him catch her off guard like this, so freely claiming he cared for her. She didn't know why she felt connected to him, like she'd known him so much longer, but his words only served to confuse her further. She needed to do something - anything - to make him talk. To find out why he was so fixated on their relationship. 

“Shut _up_ , Emet Selch,” she seethed, her face inches away from his own. Heat radiated off her, the light’s roiling bringing her temperature higher than she’d let on. He felt like he might burn alive. She was nearly at eye level with him, tall, and her ears put her even taller. And she wasn’t pulling away this time.

He wasn’t scared, no, perhaps if he had been a lesser man. He could leave easily. He should leave.

Yet, now it was his turn to be struck dumb, and he stood there unmoving. When had he started breathing this hard? He nearly choked trying to control his breath, feeling her eyes on his lips. _His_ lips! Her chest heaved too, and the flush on her face from her earlier outburst had bloomed into something deeper, softer.

She was holding herself back. Testing him. Testing herself, even. In her fury, she still felt the pull.

“I mean something to you? Prove it,” she said. 

They had reached a stalemate. Emet Selch had not imagined she’d have him pinned against the balcony wall like some blushing maiden, yet he had no desire to leave. For once, he was tired of fighting. And this was a challenge he couldn't refuse.

“Fine," he growled, and he closed the gap between their lips.

She kissed him back so hard his teeth left imprints on the inside of his mouth. He gasped, pulling her closer to him, and she took the opportunity to bite down fiercely on his lower lip. It strung, and he lashed out by pressing his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him to taste her as she met him with equal enthusiasm. Her breath was surprisingly sweet, a mix of peppermint and lingering tobacco.

It had been too long since he’d indulged in such activities, particularly in this body, and he was exposed as a raw nerve. That she might be enjoying this as much as he did was a surprise that he did not intend to waste.

“You remember that I can kill you any time I want?” He reminded her, breathless, as she captured his lips again.

She pulled back slightly. “But you won’t,” she said, “Now can we _please_ stop talking.”

Emet didn’t need to be told twice and resumed kissing her. His hands found her hips, her toned and lithe back, every inch of her he could reach – thank Zodiark she’d taken her armor off. Shayla's hands, once sturdy against the wall, now scrabbled for purchase as she writhed purposefully against him. She tried to press one leg between his but abandoned the attempt upon finding his robes to be too thick. Breathing raggedly, he moved them aside to allow her access. Her leg surged forward and rubbed against him as their lips met over and over.

He was hard, embarrassingly hard already, and he was drowning. In drought for so long and now completely submerged in her. He brought her tightly against him, fingers clutching her hips for dear life. She could feel him fully now and she ground her leg upward in response. He inhaled sharply and felt her smirk against him – _what a tease!_ – before she took his lip into her mouth and sucked, dragging her tongue along it. Combined with the pressure of her knee against his length, he nearly saw stars.

Not yet, he pleaded with himself, he couldn’t be this weak. This woman was only half of a fully realized being, he shouldn’t bend to her mercy like this. He must be losing his mind.

“I didn’t expect an all-powerful Ascian to be brought to his knees so easily,” she panted, seeming to read his thoughts. “You really aren’t as high and mighty as you think.”

“We’ll see,” he snapped, and before she could react he had flipped them around, driving her hard against the wall where he had just been. She laughed, sharp and high, and allowed it.

Emet Selch kissed her like a man starved for decades, and he supposed he was. With her hands finally free, she grabbed at him wherever she could reach. Anything to bring him closer – his shoulders, his waist, his ass. In a frenzy, he grabbed her leg and pulled it to wrap around his waist. She bit her lip and ground up against him with the additional leverage, digging the heel of her boot into the back of his thigh. He hissed and unbuttoned her casting doublet to slide a hand inside, grazing his fingers across the swell of her breast. She shuddered as his fingers reached her nipple and pinched hard. Her chest was far bigger than it had ever seemed under all that armor, and as he kneaded at it, moving to her other breast, her kisses became sloppier. Her composure was cracking.

“You ruin me,” he panted, rutting against her, whispering up into her ear. “Utterly depraved. You think this is going to turn out well for either of us?” Finally, _finally,_ he wrenched a moan from her with that, and he felt the triumph swell in his chest. So she did want this. She did want him. He buried his face in her neck and sucked at the tender skin there.

“Ah - no, it won’t,” she answered breathlessly, "it really won't."

She wrenched out of his hold, pushing his head away from her and grabbing at the furs of his collar, loosening them enough to get at his neck. She hungrily kissed a line across his jaw, down his neck, before finally biting down hard at the base. He tilted his head back with a groan. She paused against his skin.

“The question is,” she said, breathing the words hot against him, “do you want more?”

He could stop this now. One snap and he could leave.

“Please,” he said instead.

She obliged, turning him so he was once more against the wall. This time, she kneeled. His mind felt fuzzy, for once, Emet Selch was at a loss. There was no logical reason to do this, yet he could not imagine leaving now. He couldn’t. He was spellbound.

“One rule – you can’t touch me. You can only watch. Got it?”

He nodded fervently. “Fine.”

“Just be grateful I gave you that wall to lean against, you’ll need it.”

Before he could consider this comment more thoroughly, Shayla palmed his length through his pants. His breath hitched. She unbuttoned his breeches and his cock sprang forward, strained and leaking from their previous activities. The size was actually slightly larger than she had anticipated - girthy, too. Without pretense, she licked a long stripe from base to tip, and he nearly buckled to the ground.

He shook, grasping in vain at the smooth brick behind him to occupy his hands. She licked again, long and slow, and took his balls in her other hand. She cupped them and rubbed, behind and back, farther than he’d experienced before. It felt divine, and he arched into it to give her better access.

“Not tonight,” she said, “not yet.” Before he could protest, she wrapped her lips around the tip of him and took him fully in her mouth. He slapped a gloved hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

She began to bob, rhythmic, practiced, up and down. He felt a flash of anger – how many others had she done this with? But his thoughts derailed when her tongue began to zigzag along the bottom of his cock. She took him, again and again, her tongue expertly working him on the way down each time.

“Hero, I…ngh!" He tried _so hard_ to keep quiet, to not give her the satisfaction, but the more noise he made the more she hummed appreciatively. And gods, any noise she made felt so good with him in her mouth. He found himself struggling wildly not to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, to grab at her ponytail and _yank down._

“I told you not to call me that,” she muttered, her words feathering over his cock. “Use my name.”

He could do nothing else but think of Azem, her true name on the tip of his tongue. He knew this was not her, but at that moment it was almost like he could see her before him. As she had always been. 

The fleeting memory passed as one of Shayla's hands worked his base, deftly twisting around the parts she could not reach with her mouth, while the other hand continued to massage his balls. Her gaze bored into his from below, framed by black lashes, and the only hint of exertion he saw were the pools of tears at the corners of her eyes. A far cry from the tears she'd shed earlier.

She couldn't deny that it was an enjoyable view. If she'd known how beautiful he looked like when he was like this, flushed and wanting, she might have made this irrational decision a lot sooner. She took him deep, as far as she could go, and it made her gag a bit - but his face was worth it.

“Shayla, I…I can't... please…” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. He was bucking into her mouth now, his head thrown back, hands balled into tight fists.

“So close already? Pathetic,” she breathed before bearing down again. She pressed his hips against the wall hard, keeping him there as she mercilessly picked up the pace. Her hollowed cheeks bobbed up and down as she sucked. She paused at the tip and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes before taking him again, and with that image, he could no longer hold on. The pressure in his abdomen twisted him in its cold vice before letting go, and he came with a shout, spending himself down her mouth and throat. She released him with a satisfying pop, spitting it all out unceremoniously on the ground.

He collapsed back against the wall, twitching with aftershocks, and closed his eyes. This had... not gone according to plan.

“I’m not one for swallowing that shit.” She explained, standing and dusting herself off as if she’d just run a mildly strenuous jog. “So don't expect that in the future."

The magnitude of what she'd done slowly sunk in. She'd had intimate relations with an Ascian. Encouraged it, even. The leader of the Ascians! God, Thancred had been right all along. Reality settled coldly around her, and she looked away from him.

"I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Hero – Shayla - that was, well, ” he cleared his throat, rearranging his robes. “Should we discuss this?” He magicked away the mess on the ground with a wave of his hand.

“No. I really just… this was a mistake. Please leave.”

“Are you… satisfied?” he said, reaching for her. “I’d be happy to continue, should you wish –“

She slapped his hands aside. “No, I'm not satisfied. I’m confused, Emet Selch! Look, this was obviously a lapse in judgment for both of us - nobody needs to know about this, okay? Regardless of whatever your feelings are… this means nothing.”

“Yes, I expected nothing less,” he said, shakily. He wanted to hold her again, to leave her boneless beneath him. He wanted to stay with her and give her whatever she asked of him until the sun rose. But he wouldn’t do anything against her wishes, not like that. Her rejection stung, but he knew he was in no position to push her.

“I’ll take my leave,” he said, finally, and he vanished into the darkness.

Shayla crumpled to the ground, beet red, and took her face in her hands. She glared out at the tempest.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” she cried out into the ether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title: “Too Long” from RIBS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgJxH_M8OaI 
> 
> Yes this chapter was named after a song title but it ALSO was too long so it worked out lmfao. haven't written smut in years... gotta ease back into it.
> 
> Also, a couple notes: the scene with Ardbert kind of replaces the one that happens in the story around here. I just wanted to twist it a bit. And I couldn’t resist some exarch/emet aggravating banter. My favorite ;_;
> 
> If you wanna scream abt emet (or shayla lmao) follow me on twitter at @innerfray! If you came from this fic there’s a 99.9% chance I’ll follow back, just pls message me first


	5. Deadzone

_The purr of the flames, I can't get away_  
_Unnatural world with no echo_  
_Have I become immaterial?_  
_Maybe, my blood still flows_  
_For better, for worse, I'm forever changed_

_You ain't got no right, you ain't got no right_  
_You are not my savior_  
_Wake me up tonight, wake me up tonight_  
_Baby I'm in danger_  
_You are not my ride, you are not my ride_  
_I won't go gently_

* * *

To say Shayla wasn’t in the mood to undertake the journey to Amh Areng was an understatement. She’d hardly slept after she’d sent Emet Selch away the previous night - too wracked with guilt and frustration to find the rest she sorely needed. As the sun peered over the horizon, filling the room with the muted gray of morning, she pulled the quilted covers over her face. Thankfully, nobody had been around to see their activities last night. She hoped against hope that Ardbert hadn’t seen anything.

What was she thinking, throwing herself at him like that? And, more worrying, why had everything seemed so easy, so enjoyable? As if she’d done it all a thousand times already? She was no stranger to intimacy, and usually, it took a few times to really get to know someone’s body. Their lips, their breath, everything always starts off strange and unfamiliar. Like two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. Even chemistry can’t overcome that initial awkwardness, though passion usually renders it irrelevant.

This was supposed to be a man she openly despised. She had been genuinely furious with him - perhaps her fury had riled her up? She was too caught up to realize it in the moment, but it was terrifying just how seamless it all had been. Like he wasn’t some all-powerful being, like they weren’t on opposite sides. It just made sense.

To someone who’d never felt that kind of connection, it was horrifying. And it made her question if what she’d been feeling toward him was even hatred at all. 

Ysayle had started off opposed to her, as Iceheart summoning a primal with her own body as a conduit - who’s to say this wasn’t the same? But her feelings for Ysayle had grown slowly, like kindling a campfire. This was as if she’d blinked and found herself in the center of a burning house.

The morning of their departure saw her bleary-eyed and aching. A knock came at her door signaling their impending departure, and for the first time upon reaching the First, she wished she could will the daylight away. 

“Shayla? We’re leaving in about an hour,” Alisaie’s voice called out, muffled by the thick wooden door.

“I’ll be out in a bit,” she replied, flinging the covers off in one fell swoop an attempt to coerce herself into moving quickly. The cool air of the room helped bring her focus back. She was still wearing her clothes from last night, which had been suitably rumpled. The only pieces missing were her heeled black boots, which lay flung to the side near the entrance to the balcony. She shivered. Gods, that balcony would never feel quite the same.

Shayla took a hair tie from the side table - black, with tiny red flowers adorning it, and tied her hair up. Her fingers looped the material one, two, three ties around, then secured it expertly with a knot. She’d always been able to think more clearly when it was up and out of her face. Even bangs, which she’d worn when she was young, often muddled her thought process. Thankfully, after a full eighty-three years of life, she’d only had to endure the frustrating growing out period once.

With her hair out of the way, she tossed her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed her soul of the dark knight from her bag. She squeezed it, focusing, and the aether around her shifted as glinting black armor settled comfortably over her. It was a cheap shortcut to truly getting ready, but she didn’t want to waste time thinking too hard about something as unimportant as her outfit today. It was time to put on her best game face. Time to be a proper warrior of darkness when she walked out, just like everyone was expecting. 

No matter what he had to tell her, she couldn’t pursue a relationship with Emet Selch further. Though a part of her, regardless of attempts to repress it, wanted exactly that. She’d already made mistakes with her personal life, and she couldn’t risk it again. There was too much at stake for feelings to get involved. 

“Care for a scone, my dear?”

Emet Selch’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she saw him manifest neatly into the scene of her room yet again as if he had been lounging there for hours. He sat at the table which had once held sandwiches from the Exarch, holding open a small canvas bag full of breakfast pastries. Their sweet, tempting smell wafted toward Shayla, who had paused cold a few steps from the bed.

A thousand ways to push him away ran through her mind, a thousand ways for her to vent her anger and frustration at him - and she knew he would listen. He would go at her behest.

But she didn’t want him to leave. Not really. 

“As an immortal, surely eating food is beneath you?” She commented dryly, crossing her arms.

“You’re correct,” he said, pulling out a steaming croissant and examining it with mild interest, “we don’t require such basic fuel to subsist. But it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the _pleasures_ of eating.”

Back to trying to rile her up. She pointedly ignored the innuendo in his comment. “It seems lately that I can summon you through thought alone,” she huffed. 

“Ah, you were thinking about me? Well, I apologize for the interruption.” He smirked, and she pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“It’s not - look,” she started over, “I’ve been taking out a lot on you, probably because you seem to always show up when I’m in a bad mood. I’m... sorry,” she wrung the word out. “But I meant everything I said last night. I am angry. I just don’t know what to make of what happened. It was…” 

“Easy.” He finished for her. She nodded.

“Yes. And I _enjoyed_ it. And now I’m conflicted.” He raised one eyebrow at that, and she tossed her ponytail impatiently, flushing. That was a bit more than she’d intended to divulge. “ _Ah_ , well, forget that. What did you come here to talk about?”

Emet Selch seemed put out that she’d stamped out that train of thought, but he shrugged.

“I wanted to tell you that I understand why you were angry at me. Why you feel conflicted right now. The situation I’ve put you in is unfair.” He said, pulling out an orange-colored scone from the bag. “Really, though, would you like one of these? I picked them out myself, they’re really quite delicious. Freshly baked.”

Shayla eyed him warily, but took the offering. She bit off a corner. It was citrusy, with dried berries scatted throughout. 

“It’s good,” she said, and he smiled smugly. “Okay, Go on.”

“I promised you transparency, which I have been withholding,” he admitted. “For your own good, of course. But that wasn’t our deal, was it? I don’t like to make a habit of breaking my promises. You dismissed me before I could bring it up last night."

She felt a spike of adrenaline, fear and anticipation mixing a heady cocktail in her veins. “Are you finally going to tell me about my soul?” She asked, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

“Yes, if you still desire it,” he asked. “I should warn you - this is not pleasant knowledge. This will undoubtedly cause you to suffer.” His expression, his tone was gravely serious. 

“I’m sure I've dealt with worse, I’m not afraid,” she stuck her chin out. “Tell me.”

He exhaled heavily and stood up, stone silent. He crossed the room toward her, tentative and intentional like one might approach a wild animal. She resented his caution, and she stood to meet him mid-stride. He knelt in front of her, taking her hand. It was far too intimate, and she nearly recoiled.

Something was burning in him, something she couldn’t quite place. It almost fought against whatever was inside her, oscillating between magnetism and pushing away.

“Your soul is that of the fourteenth seat, Azem,” he said, looking up and into her eyes. His molten gold gaze pierced her, and she couldn’t look away. “With our past actions, your soul is seven times rejoined. She was my partner in the council, my greatest friend, and,” he had to swallow before continuing, “my love. Not only do you carry her soul, you also wear her face.”

She took a few hazy steps back, sitting down on the bed. He followed, scooting forward a bit to keep her hand held firmly in his own “So I’m Azem,” she repeated slowly, “The fourteenth seat. Does that make me an Ascian?”

“Well, not exactly. You are different, you carry Hydaelyn’s blessing. As the rest of us are tempered by Zodiark, you are untouchable. You are protected by the light, which is why I’m hopeful that you may be able to actually hold the light within.”

Shayla tried to process his words, but the way he was rubbing her hand was distracting her. It was so comforting, so at odds with how he usually acted. 

“Okay, so, first off - you’re tempered. No matter how much time we spend together, I will not be able to sway you from your mission in the slightest.”

He nodded. She shivered as a shred of hope she hadn’t realized she was holding left her. 

“And two - the reason you’ve been so curious about me, pursuing me… is because I look like her,” she said, bracing herself for his answer.

“You do not simply look like her. You are a part of her,” he explained. 

Shayla brought her free hand to cover her mouth, which trembled slighty. “Does that mean," she said slowly, "everything that’s happened, everything I’ve felt - it’s someone else?”

“No,” he said firmly, “Though you carry her soul, there is not enough of it in you to impact or control your actions, or your feelings. It’s more that it influences your mannerisms, your instincts, the unconscious part of your mind.”

“Aren’t these feelings unconscious?” Shayla murmured. 

“Perhaps. But love is a choice,” he declared. She convulsed involuntarily at his use of the word, though now that she knew how he felt, it all made sense. He’d been holding this in for longer than she’d been alive, ten times over.

Emet Selch knew that they had reached a breaking point. What he wanted was to pursue her, coerce her into letting him in. To show her his true self- and he would see her as she was now. He could even try to bring her memories as Azem back. But regardless of if that was successful, it would end badly for both of them. She was more powerful than he’d like to admit, the only one who had the slightest chance of besting him and foiling his plans. But, selfishly, he wanted more time with her. He wanted her undivided attention. He wanted _her_

The other option, the rational one, was to let her go here. He could hope that despite the pull of her soul she would make the correct decision for them both. After the appalling display of weakness he’d shown last night, he wasn’t confident in his ability to push her away if she chose to come closer.

“Your heart is still your own. I hold no sway over it,” he lied, “and you may choose to walk away. I will act as I always have with the others, and I won’t seek you out alone again.”

“I’m not an idiot, Emet Selch. I know full well you’ll do whatever you please, regardless of what I say,” she sighed.

“I wasn’t lying to you last night,” he said, “and I’m not now. I’d be a fool to say it won’t affect me, that I don’t care. Just because I’m immortal, it doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. I will respect your choice.”

The silence hung thick in the air, and he finally took his hand back, stepping away from her. The action snapped something intangible tying her to him, and she blinked up at him.

“Can I think it over?” she asked, after a moment.

“Of course,” he nodded. It wasn’t a no, and that was both invigorating and worrying.

“Thank you,” she said, standing up and mechanically picking up her bag and sword. “As it stands, we shouldn’t have any sort of relationship. I’m just going to pretend things are as they have always been when we join the group.”

“We both put on such lovely fronts for everyone, don’t we?” he mused. “But you and I both know the truth: It’s all a facade.” 

Shayla winced, how deeply those words cut to the core of her. “You’re not wrong,” she gritted out.

“I know.”

She fastened her sword to her back, testing the fastenings. “Are you coming with us to Amh Areng?”

He made a face. “No, I think I’ll pass - far too much light for my taste. But if you succeed in bringing back the night yet again, which I have no doubts you will, I shall seek you out.” He leveled his gaze with hers, carefully. “You may give me your answer then.”

For the first time, she smiled at him. “Alright Ascian, it’s a deal.”

By the time Alisaie returned to fetch her for breakfast, Emet Selch had long since retreated to the shadows

“Gods, you look awful,” she greeted as Shayla let her in. She looked around the room, which was in a general state of disarray. “Did you sleep at all last night? Wait - did you have breakfast without us?” Alisaie asked, pointing at the incriminating bag of half-eaten pastries left on the table.

Shayla shrugged. “I was hungry, didn’t want to wait. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Indeed,” Alisaie agreed, peering at her suspiciously. “You know, there are quite a few here. Were you perhaps sharing them with someone?”

“Not at all, just wanted some extra portions today,” Shayla replied as they began the trek to the Aetheryte. 

Alisaie examined her face for traces of lying and found none. “Fine,” she said, exhaling heavily, “Let’s hurry and meet up with the others then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song Title: Deadzone, Ladytron (an EXCELLENT emetwol song): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eg6Qun48JdA
> 
> Ohhh we're getting into it now. Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting on this, you always brighten up my day and I've been having so much fun writing <3
> 
> Bit of a short chapter/interlude this time, but wanted to get an update out!!
> 
> And if you're interested in connecting with ffxiv fic writers and readers, join the [book club discord!!](https://discord.gg/xqc2Ut5)


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